The wind pushed the words back down her throat. The house groaned like a sick, dying animal.
The wind was too loud. It sounded like a giant screaming right into her ear. Millie stood on the tilted wood. The deck was breaking. The boards snapped with loud, popping noises. Water hit her knees. The water was cold and dark and angry.
"You left!" Millie yelled. The wind pushed the words back down her throat. She tasted salt. She tasted dirty rain.
Jack stood two feet away. He looked blurry. The rain was falling so fast it looked like a gray wall. His shirt stuck to his chest. His hair was flat and wet against his head.
"I couldn't stay!" Jack screamed back. His voice barely reached her. The ocean roared. A huge wave smashed against the wooden sticks holding the house up. The whole floor shook. Millie's stomach dropped. It felt like falling on a rollercoaster.
"You sent a text!" she yelled. Her throat burned. The physical pain in her throat matched the heavy rock sitting in her stomach.
"I was terrified!" Jack screamed.
Another wave hit. The wood under Jack's boot cracked. A long split opened in the board. The house groaned. It was a sick sound. The metal nails squeaked as they pulled out of the wet wood.
Millie squeezed her eyes shut. The rain hit her eyelids like tiny, sharp rocks. The storm was too big. The feelings were too big.
Three days ago. The sky was the color of a bad bruise. It was purple and dark green near the edges. The air was heavy. It felt like breathing through a hot, wet towel. Millie wiped her forehead. Her hand came away wet. Her skin felt sticky.
She looked at the cardboard box. She picked up the tape. The plastic dispenser was cheap and red. She pulled the tape. It made a loud, scratching noise. Riiiiip. She pushed the tape down on the cardboard. The box was full of old books. It was heavy.
Jack stood in the doorway. He held a stack of plates. The plates clinked together. His knuckles were white. He was squeezing the plates too hard.
"Where do you want these?" he asked. His voice was flat. It sounded like he was reading from a boring list.
"In the plastic bin," Millie said. She did not look at him. She looked at the tape. The tape had a little wrinkle in it. She pressed her thumb on the wrinkle. She pushed it flat. The cardboard felt rough under her skin.
Jack walked to the plastic bin. His shoes squeaked on the dusty floor. The floor was covered in sand. Sand got everywhere here. It was in the corners. It was under the rug. It was in her shoes. It scratched against the wood with every step.
He set the plates down. Clack. Clack. Clack.
"I can wrap them in newspaper," Jack said.
"Fine," Millie said.
She wiped her neck. The sweat rolled down her back. The ceiling fan was spinning. It made a clicking sound. Click. Click. Click. But it did not move the air. The air was stuck. The room smelled like old dust and hot plastic.
Jack grabbed a newspaper. The paper crinkled. It was a loud noise in the quiet room. He folded the paper around a plate. He did it slowly. He looked at his hands.
Millie watched his hands. He had a small cut on his thumb. The skin was red around it. She remembered when he used to hold her hand. His hands were always warm. Now, he felt like a stranger standing in her living room.
"Did you call the truck?" Jack asked.
"Yes," she said.
"When are they coming?"
"Tomorrow."
Jack nodded. He wrapped another plate. The crinkling noise filled the room again. Millie hated the noise. She hated the heat. She hated the sticky feeling on her arms.
She picked up another box. She folded the flaps down. Left, right, top, bottom. She pulled the tape. Riiiiip.
"Do you want water?" Jack asked.
"No," she said.
"It is really hot."
"I am fine."
She was not fine. Her head hurt. There was a tight band of pain right behind her eyes. The bright light coming through the dirty window made it worse. The sun was hiding behind the purple clouds, but the glare was still bright white. It hurt to look outside.
She grabbed a stack of old magazines. The paper felt glossy and warm. She dropped them into the box. Thud. Dust flew up into the air. She coughed. The dust tasted like dirt.
Jack stopped wrapping. He looked at her.
"You should drink something," he said.
"Stop telling me what to do," Millie snapped.
Her jaw felt tight. Her teeth were pressed together. Jack looked down. He picked up another plate. He did not say anything else. The ceiling fan kept clicking. The house felt like a trap. The air was getting thicker. The storm was coming.
Four days ago. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Millie was in the kitchen. She was scrubbing the sink. The sponge was yellow and smelled like lemon soap. The water was hot on her pink hands.
Jack was in the living room. He was sorting through the low cabinet. The wooden doors of the cabinet stuck to the frame. Millie heard him pull hard. Crack. The door popped open.
Then, silence.
Millie turned off the water. The pipes clunked. She dried her hands on a towel. The towel was scratchy. She walked into the living room.
Jack was sitting on the floor. His knees were pulled up. He was holding a small, brown box. The lid was off. The box was covered in a thick layer of gray dust. Jack's fingers had left clean streaks in the dust.
He was looking at a square piece of paper. A Polaroid picture.
"What is that?" Millie asked.
Jack looked up. His eyes looked big.
"It was in the back," Jack said. "Behind the old record player."
Millie walked over. The floorboards creaked under her bare feet. She stood over him. She looked down at the picture.
It was a picture of the beach house. But it looked different. The paint was bright blue, not peeling gray. And the sand... the sand stretched out forever. There was a giant wooden walkway. There were dunes with tall green grass.
Now, the water hit the wooden sticks under the house. The sand was gone. The ocean had eaten it all.
"Look at the water," Jack said. "It was so far away."
"Put it back," Millie said. Her stomach felt cold.
"You are standing right here," Jack pointed at the picture. "Next to your dad."
Millie felt a sharp pinch in her chest. Like a rubber band snapping against her heart. She stared at the tiny blurry face of her father. He was smiling. He was wearing a red shirt.
"I said, put it back," Millie said. Her voice was louder this time.
Jack stood up. He held the picture.
"Why?" he asked. "It is a good picture."
"Because I do not want to look at it."
"Millie, you can't just throw away every memory."
Millie felt her hands turn into fists. Her fingernails pressed into her palms.
"I am not throwing it away. I just do not want to look at it right now. We are packing. We are working."
"You are running away from it," Jack said.
"I am not running!" Millie yelled. The sound bounced off the bare walls.
Jack looked at her. His face was hard. His jaw muscles moved under his skin.
"You always run," he said quietly.
"Me?" Millie laughed. It was an ugly, short sound. "You are the one who left! You left when he got sick! You ran away!"
"I panicked!" Jack yelled back. He dropped the picture. It fluttered to the floor. "I was twenty years old! I didn't know how to watch someone die!"
"So you left me alone!"
"I am sorry!"
"Sorry does not fix it!" Millie screamed. Her throat hurt. She felt hot tears in her eyes. The tears were hot and angry. She blinked them away. She refused to cry. Not in front of him.
Jack stared at her. His chest moved up and down fast. He was breathing hard. He looked down at the picture on the floor. He bent down, picked it up, and dropped it into the brown box. He put the lid back on. A small puff of dust rose into the air.
He walked out the back door. The screen door slammed behind him. Bang.
Five days ago. The afternoon was muggy. The air was wet. The sun beat down on the rotting wood of the back porch. Millie was sitting on the top step. She was holding a warm bottle of water. Condensation dripped down the plastic and onto her leg.
Suddenly, the wind changed.
It was fast. One second, the air was hot and still. The next second, a sharp, cold breeze blew off the ocean. It cut right through the heavy heat.
Millie shivered. Goosebumps popped up on her bare arms. The cold air felt good. It felt clean.
Jack walked out onto the porch. He sat down on the step below her. He did not look at her. He looked at the gray waves hitting the pilings.
"The temperature just dropped," he said.
"I know," Millie said.
They sat in silence. The wind blew Jack's hair. The cold air made the tension in Millie's shoulders loosen a little bit.
"I never stopped, you know," Jack said. His voice was very quiet. It was almost lost in the sound of the wind.
"Stopped what?" Millie asked.
Jack picked at a splinter on the wooden step. He pulled it loose.
"Loving you," he said.
Millie stared at the back of his neck. He had a small mole right below his hairline. She used to trace it with her finger. Her heart did a weird, heavy flip in her chest.
"Don't say that," she said.
"It is true," Jack said. He turned his head to look at her. His eyes were red. "I just felt so small. Your dad was so big. He was so strong. And he was dying. I felt like I was shrinking. I wasn't good enough to hold you up."
"I didn't need you to hold me up," Millie said. Her voice cracked. "I just needed you to stand next to me."
Jack looked back at the ocean.
"I know," he said. "I was stupid. I was a coward."
He threw the splinter into the wind. It blew away instantly. The cold breeze hit them again. Millie pulled her knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs. She felt very small. The ocean looked huge.
Six days ago. Arrival.
The car tires crunched on the gravel. The sound was loud and harsh. Jack turned the key. The engine sputtered and died. The car was old. It smelled like stale coffee and hot plastic.
Millie pushed her door open. The heat hit her face like an oven door opening. She stepped out onto the crushed white shells. They poked the bottom of her thin shoes.
She walked to the trunk. Jack was already there. He popped the trunk. The metal creaked. He reached in and grabbed her black suitcase.
"I can get it," Millie said.
"It is heavy," Jack said.
"I said I can get it."
She grabbed the handle. Her fingers brushed against his knuckles. His skin was hot. She pulled her hand back quickly, like she had touched a hot stove. She dragged the suitcase out. The wheels hit the gravel with a clatter.
"Listen to me," Millie said. She stood up straight. She looked right into his eyes. "We are here to pack the house. We are here to get the furniture out before the storm hits. That is it."
Jack closed the trunk. Slam.
"I know," he said.
"Don't touch my personal boxes. Don't try to talk about the past. And don't talk about my dad. We work, we pack, we leave."
Jack looked at her. His face was blank. He nodded once.
"Understood," he said.
They walked to the house. The steps were uneven. The wood felt spongy under her feet. The house looked sick. The white paint was peeling off in long strips. It looked like a terrible sunburn peeling off skin.
Millie put the key in the door. The metal lock was rusty. She had to jiggle it hard. Click. The door opened. The smell of mildew and old salt hit her nose.
Ten years ago. The air smelled like fried dough and powdered sugar.
The carnival was loud. Giant speakers blasted pop music. The bass thumped in Millie's chest. Bright yellow and red lights flashed in circles. It was blinding and beautiful. The summer night was perfect.
Jack was laughing. He held three dirty baseballs.
"Watch this," he said.
He threw the first ball. It hit the metal milk bottles with a loud CLANG. They did not fall over.
"You throw like a little kid," Millie teased. She bumped her shoulder against his.
"Quiet, I am focusing," Jack smiled.
He threw the second ball. CLANG. Nothing.
He threw the third ball. It hit the bottom bottle perfectly. The bottles crashed down. The carnival worker looked bored. He picked up a cheap, blue stuffed bear from a hook. He handed it to Jack.
Jack turned to Millie. He held out the bear. It had crooked plastic eyes. One ear was bigger than the other.
"For you, my lady," he said.
Millie laughed. She took the bear. The fur felt rough and cheap. But she hugged it tight.
"I love him," she said.
Jack leaned in and kissed her. His lips tasted like salt and cherry soda. The lights flashed behind his head. The world felt completely perfect. It felt like nothing could ever go wrong.
The hospital.
It was so cold. The air conditioning blew directly on Millie's neck. The lights overhead were long, white tubes. They buzzed. Bzzzzzzz. It was a horrible, electric sound.
The floor was made of shiny white tiles. They smelled like bleach. The smell was sharp. It burned the inside of her nose.
Millie sat on an orange plastic chair. The plastic was hard. Her back ached. She was wearing yesterday's clothes. Her jeans felt tight and dirty.
She looked at her hands. They were shaking.
The doctor had just left. The words were still bouncing around in her head. Aggressive. Spreading. Weeks, not months.
She needed Jack. Where was Jack? He went to get coffee an hour ago.
Her pocket buzzed. She jumped. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She pulled out her phone. The screen lit up in the dark hallway. The light hurt her tired eyes.
It was a text from Jack.
I'm sorry. I can't do this. I can't watch him die. I'm leaving. I'm so sorry.
Millie stared at the screen. The letters looked like bugs crawling on the glass. She read it again. And again.
Her breath stopped. Her throat closed up. The physical feeling was like being kicked in the stomach by a heavy boot. The phone felt heavy. It slipped out of her fingers. It hit the floor. Smack. The glass screen cracked. A long spiderweb line split right across the word sorry.
She was alone. The buzzing light above her got louder. The cold air bit into her skin. The blue stuffed bear was sitting on her bed at home. She wanted to rip its crooked eyes off.
Two days ago. The basement.
The air down here was terrible. It smelled like wet dirt and rotting leaves. It was dark. Jack held his phone out. The small flashlight beam cut through the dark.
Millie stood on the bottom step. The stairs felt soft.
"Look at this," Jack said.
He walked over to one of the giant wooden poles holding the house up. He poked the wood with a screwdriver.
Squish.
The metal went right into the wood. The wood did not crack. It just crumbled. It fell away like wet chocolate cake.
"It is completely rotted," Jack said. He pulled the screwdriver out. A chunk of black wood fell to the muddy floor. "The saltwater has been eating it for years."
Millie stared at the black hole in the wood. The house was standing on nothing. The foundation was dead. The sick feeling in her stomach twisted. The decay was right in front of them. The house was broken. Just like them.
"If a big wave hits this," Jack said softly, "the whole house slides into the ocean."
One day ago.
They were taping the last box. The sky outside was completely black, even though it was only two in the afternoon. The wind was howling. It sounded like a train rushing past the windows.
Suddenly, a noise exploded in the room.
BEEEEEP. BEEEEEP. BEEEEEP.
It was a horrible, shrill sound. It came from Millie's pocket. It came from Jack's pocket. It was the emergency alert.
Millie pulled her phone out. The screen was bright red. Big white letters flashed.
*EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. CATEGORY 5 HURRICANE MAKING LANDFALL. SEVERE DANGER.*
Jack looked at his phone. Then he looked at her.
"We have to go," he said. His voice was fast. He was already moving toward his keys.
"Wait," Millie said. She dropped her phone on the table. "I cannot find the ring."
Jack stopped. "What ring?"
"My mother's wedding ring. It was in the little wooden box on the dresser. The box is empty."
"Millie, we don't have time."
"I am not leaving without it!" Millie yelled. The panic rose in her chest. The air felt thin. She could not breathe.
"Where did it go?" Jack asked.
"It fell! I heard something drop behind the dresser yesterday. It must have fallen through the floorboards. The wood is warped there."
Millie ran to the bedroom. Jack followed. The wind rattled the window glass. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle.
Millie dropped to her knees. She looked at the floor near the wall. There was a wide gap between two wooden boards. It was dark inside.
"It is down there," she said. She shoved her fingers into the crack. The wood was rough. She pulled. Nothing happened.
Jack knelt beside her.
"Move," he said.
He jammed his fingers into the gap. He grabbed the edge of the floorboard. He pulled up with all his strength. His face turned red. The muscles in his neck popped out.
CRACK.
The board lifted an inch. The rusty nails shrieked as they scraped out of the joists.
"Pull it!" Millie cried.
Jack grabbed it from the side. He yanked upward. The board broke in half. A sharp, rusty nail sliced right across his palm.
Jack gasped. He pulled his hand back. Blood immediately dripped onto the dusty floor. It was bright red. It looked loud against the gray wood.
"You are bleeding!" Millie said.
"Find it!" Jack yelled, holding his bloody hand against his shirt.
Millie reached into the hole. She felt dirt. She felt old dust. She felt a spiderweb. She felt nothing hard. No metal. No ring.
"It is not here," she whispered.
The house shook violently. A lamp fell off the nightstand and shattered on the floor. Crash.
Now. The present.
The storm is here. The deck is breaking. The water is freezing.
"We have to jump!" Jack screamed. The wind tore the sound from his mouth.
The house groaned a final, terrible groan. The floor tilted sharply downward. The ocean was reaching up to grab them. The black water swirled with white foam.
Jack reached out. He lunged across the breaking wood. He grabbed Millie's hand.
His grip was tight. It was strong. His palm was wet with rain and blood. He pulled her hard.
Millie stumbled forward. She let go of the railing. She let go of the house. She let go of the ring buried in the dark.
They ran toward the sand dunes. The wind pushed them from behind. Behind them, a massive, deafening CRUNCH echoed over the roar of the ocean. The house finally slid into the black water.
“Behind them, a massive, deafening CRUNCH echoed over the roar of the ocean as the house finally slid into the black water.”
